


only fools rush in

by BookTwo



Series: treks not taken [1]
Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookTwo/pseuds/BookTwo
Summary: Beverly is an EMH, but more importantly, she is his EMH.
Series: treks not taken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666363
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	only fools rush in

**Author's Note:**

> An alternative scene from 1x06, the Impossible Box. Takes place directly after Jean-Luc sees the holo of Locutus at his desk, but before La Sirena arrives at the Artifact.
> 
> You shouldn't travel the cosmos (or write things for that matter) without your best friend.

Rays of broken sunlight float through the french doors of the study, as Jean-Luc holds his head, and steadies his breath. The memory of the Borg’s heavy alloy implant once clinging to his face aches in his chest, and Jean-Luc compensates with the comforts of blurry shadows and soft grays of the Enterprise. 

He remembers Beverly’s voice in those days, soothing him once they had severed his connection to the collective, and he begged her and Geordi to let him die. He remembers her arms, circling him for months afterward though he could barely look her in the eye during senior staff. 

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency." A melodic tone, aged to match the real Beverly Crusher, coincides with her materialization in front of the desk, arms crossed. Her medium length hair is auburn waves streaked with gray while her garb is casual, a leather jacket with a wrap tunic and pants in earthy muted tones not unlike what he was wearing.

He looks at Beverly, still clutching his head with one hand. "Jean-Luc, what is it? What’s wrong?"

"It’s nothing, I’m fine," he says. Beverly steps forward, pulling a thin medical tricorder from her pocket, and Jean-Luc drops his hand. The "scan" is only a second, but Jean-Luc deep down appreciates the computer not automatically spouting his biorhythms back at him.

"Alright—do you want me to tell you you’re wrong now or later? I can do either, your choice." The tricorder snaps closed, and Beverly taps it several times against her palm, before slipping it into her jacket pocket.

Jean-Luc waves her off, looking towards the balcony. Beverly comes around the desk, leaning against it and into his space. It’s a move Beverly’s done a thousand times before, when she felt Jean-Luc wasn’t listening.

"Your blood pressure is high; heart rate is slightly elevated; blood sugar is low, likely from a lack of eating which is contributing to your irritability; and I haven’t even mentioned brain activity. When was the last time you slept?"

"I’m fine."

"Then you are welcome to dismiss me." Her left fingers brush his right temple, and Jean-Luc maintains eye contact. "You were holding your head a moment ago, right above where we removed Locutus’ ocular implant. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Jean-Luc—" 

"No, you are not Beverly. You are a Mark VI EMH."

"Correction, I am your Mark VI EMH, and you need to let me do my job. Whether that is being a physician monitoring your condition or being your friend with a comforting ear, I am capable of both."

"Why did Laris of all people insist on broadening your program like this? Why aren’t you a standard Zimmerman model that I can easily ignore?"

"Ask yourself why Laris planned for the eventuality that you would get into trouble but I suspect you know the answer." A pause, as Beverly crosses her arms. "She and Beverly knew you would go where Beverly couldn’t and wouldn’t want you to go. They knew you wouldn’t listen to anyone else."

"I do not need a babysitter."

"Yes, well, anger is a privilege of younger men, who have the health and time to do something about it," Beverly replies. Her accompanying expression is small, regretful more than anything. "How is that for a babysitter?" 

"Asininely authentic," he says, the anger softening. Beverly curves an index finger along his cheek, and Jean-Luc doesn’t flinch. The door chimes.

"That’s my cue." Her hand drops.

"Computer, dismiss EMH," he says, and Beverly disappears. His voice raises. "Come."


End file.
